Chapter 7
On his knees with his head against the wall Jeffrey could only listen to what went on around him. His hands were held behind his back with a plastic tie. It was twenty minutes since it had been confirmed from inside the contaminated zone that yes, it was just a case of cows falling from the sky and not the next 911. Gloria had been attempting to negotiate his release with the medic who was tending to her head wound.
“This is ridiculous, you know that don’t you?” she persisted, the medic nodded slightly as he began her stitches.
In front of them Jeffrey was trying to combat the feeling of sickness that had come upon him since he was slammed against the wall, giving his brain another good rattling about inside his head.
“If there was no terrorist attack then he was with in his rights to refuse his co-operation.”
“Yes Miss…”
“Don’t Miss me!”
“You’re gonna have to keep still if you don’t want this to scar.”
“No… scar me if you want to.” She threw back flippantly.
Jeffrey tried not to laugh, more because he might throw up than any particular sense of decency.
“Why exactly is he still restrained?” Gloria started again.
“He assaulted a soldier.”
“That’s pathetic, what could he do really?”
Jeffrey thought about speaking up but then decided in the interests of keeping what face he had left he would stick to closing his eyes and breathing deeply.
“You guys are trained to kill, the most he could do is be sick on you.”
Thanks Glor!
“That’s as maybe but he did assault a soldier of her majesty’s…”
“He was being threatened by an ill trained psychologically retarded illiterate chimp with a gun.” Jeffrey thought he heard the medic laugh this time.
“It’s really not my… please, keep still – thank you… not my department, I am just a medic.”
“And the monkey that hit him?”
“Well.” replied the medic “if you give a boy a man’s toy.”
Jeffrey tried to turn to see if she was flirting, but his head reeled and he dropped it back down again and took a deep breath. Don’t vomit. He became aware of stomping footstep coming out of the throng behind him towards them. They stopped quite close.
“Miss Palter, Mr Dargon? I am Captain Richards, Royal Dragoon Guards.”
“Hello…” Gloria said, Richard thought less confrontational still.
“You’ll forgive me if I don’t get up.” Jeffrey mumbled.
“Of course, Sergeant, release Mr Dargon would you.” The plastic tie was cut away in a notably softer manner than it was applied.
“Thank you.” Jeffrey smiled at the corporal who viewed him with considerable disdain, but with a cheap smile plastered over the top. He recognised him as one of the men who had twenty minutes ago piled on top of him. Jeffrey got slowly to his feet, taking great care not to subject this head to any sudden movements. He ran his hands over his wrists feeling the imprint of the plastic. Richards was a tall man, perhaps forty. He had a casual but firm appearance about him, which was possibly more a well thought out strategy for dealing with accidentally apprehended civilians than a sign of his true character. He waited, a neutral smile on his face, while Jeffrey got him self together and was given a glass of water by the medic, who despite his uniform and weathered face didn’t look like a soldier, his thin wired glasses and sharp eyes belonged to a different man.
Richards cleared his throat. “Now I would like to apologise for the misunderstanding here and any distress cause to either of you after what must already have been a shocking series of events.”
“Oh you know it’s alright, I’m rather fond of having my personal liberties infringed like I was some kind of Al Queada front man.” Jeffrey blithered out in the hopes it would look something other than childish. “Or an afghani teacher.” He added quietly.
“Mr Dargon! You are no doubt aware of certain threats to the capital that have arisen over recent months.”
“I am aware of the awareness of threats, the threats themselves I’m yet to be convinced of, except falling cows, I’m a firm believer in the threat of falling cows now you will be pleased to know.” Gravity shifted under Jeffrey’s feet and sergeant was obliged to prop him up.
The smell of cow shit drew his attention briefly to line of people being lead through the ticket barrier by soldiers who were supervising them from a ‘safe’ distance. They were lead to the far row of decontamination showers The other row nearer them were now being deflated and returned to their bags by deeply disappointed soldiers.
He wished his camera had not been, as it probably had been, irrevocably damaged by having a decontamination hose jammed into his bag and then turned on by a frighteningly enthusiastically sadistic soldier who had to be dragged away as he laughed maniacally. The tabloids would love the sight in front of him now; some headline about a ‘dirty’ bomb could surely be conjured up to fit the scene.
“Well, Mr Dargon.” Richards said, reacquiring Jeffrey’s attention. “We have been placed on alert in the City of London in response to a specific perceived threat, and respond to any attack or incident. I am sorry that my men were so firm with you but we could not know the full details of what had happened here and have been trained to take all necessary precautions.”
“The guy who put a water hose in my bag damaging my possessions and equipment was not doing it out of duty.”
“That was not an action of standard practice Mr Dargon no.” Richards Struggled
“It was spiteful and unprofessional.”
“It was against training and appears to have been an act of person gratification.”
“Spite.”
“Rest assured, we shall be dealing with the man responsible.”
“Good.”
Richards had a calm and stern manner about him and Jeffrey was inclined to believe a very nasty bollocking awaited the hosepipe vigilantly.
“As for your detainment I am sorry, but it was a matter of policy I’m afraid had this been a contaminant attack the quicker the pollutants are washed away the lesser chances of severe illness. Please accept my apologies for the manor of your detainment, but I don’t apologise for the detainment itself.”
“The problem is that this implies a proviso that concern for a germ warfare attack is well founded, now that is not my belief.”
“That is not a matter for my concern.”
“Maybe it should be as a tool of a propaganda machine.”
Shut up Jeffrey you are not helping.
“I don’t want to loose my temper with you Mr Dargon, but I might. We are here to do a job.”
“Yes but what job?”
“The safety of British civilians. Please don’t be a stereotype Mr Dargon.”
“You’re here to be here and be seen Captain.”
“Aside from your self-indulgence I’ve got a lot of injured and traumatised people to deal with Mr Dargon, I don’t have time to question why I’m here or get involved in philosophical debate. But I and my men are here, and we can help. This is an army unit, not a political tool. As it happens, what ever the reason for my being here, it turned out we could help.” He gestured to the still shocked looking group of people who were being washed free of cow shit and intestines and wrapped in foil blankets. Asyou’re your detainment I’m sorry and if there is anyway my men or I can help you to get home to what must be an important family time I would like to offer the help of Her Majesties Armed Services. If needs be I can arrange to have you flown to RAF Leeming and driven from there to Settle.
“No, that’s okay thank you Captain.”
“Jeffrey?” Gloria questioned.
“It’s okay.” He turned back to Richards. “I’ve decided in light of recent events to delay my journey for a day, exactly how many cows fell over London Captain?”
“What?”
“Well on the station they fell in a line, across like that.” He waved his arm in a direction parallel. “I heard them hit outside before they hit us, I’m guessing that line stretches across the city.”
“Yes, Mr Dargon.”
“How many?”
“The camera and Dictaphone in your bag…”
“And what happened to the plane?”
“You’re a reporter?”
“A journalist and yes, there is a difference.”
“There certainly is.”
“How many cows Captain?”
“Off the record?”
“Thanks to the enthusiasm of your team I have no way of making it on the record now do I?”
“The count is fourteen at the moment.” He said, his eyes had narrowed, Jeffrey was pleased to deduce he was being re-evaluated by the Captain, he had surprised him.
“And the plane?”
“Plane?”
“Cows don’t fly Captain, I’ve only heard of one incident where cows fell from the sky before, out of a Russian plane where they sank a Chinese fishing trawler.”
“Mr Dargon, I have a lot to get on with.”
“Of course, terrorist cow attack and all, but…”
“Jeffrey.” Gloria pulled at him, she sounded cross, but he was on a roll and it was going his way, he was probably about to be re arrested.
“Cross Water.” He said quietly to her.
“What?”
“Ring road mall, errr park thingy, shops… retail park… Biggest in the country, demolished a school, it’s a private PFI thing trust me.” He had heard a soldier mention something while he had his head against the wall, but enjoyed the chance to appear all knowing.
“Jeffrey!” she grabbed his arm as he move to chase the Richards. “Look at me, go home, accept his offer and go home, you need to be there.” He looked at her and then dismissed her concern, she thought he was in denial, and he wasn’t. He was the only person in Paddington Station truly aware that just bizarre, it was… very unlikely.
“Captain.” He called out.
Richards spun with the sharpness of a man in short temper, but curiously he was smiling. “Mr Dargon?”
“The plane has come down hasn’t it?”
“I’m sorry Mr Dargon, I can’t discuss it.”
Jeffrey’s throat leapt when he realised he was going to do it again.
“I would have thought you would want to give me something else to write about than being manhandled by the armed forces and forcibly detained with out just reason by armed imbeciles.”
The smile went and Richards walked back to Jeffrey. Too much? Shit! Far too much.
“Or I could write about the adaptive ingenuity of our armed forces.” He nodded over the cheery shit cleaned individuals who were now drinking coffee and sharing jokes with soldiers in their new clothes after their ‘decontamination’.
“You know, I’ve never knowingly read anything by you Mr Dargon, and I’ve never heard your name.”
“Well I...” Jeffrey started.
“And I recognise the style of your arguments from some, some pilger in there perhaps?.”
Jeffrey gawped for just a moment, and then he realised and closed his mouth.
He’s sussed you, stop now.
“Where did it come down Captain?”
His head shifted to look at Jeffrey at an angle through smirking eyes.
“Guilford.”
“Cross water?” Richards blanched, just for a moment.
“You’re the journalist, go fetch Mr Dargon.” And with that Richards turned and left, his walk was determined in a way that told Jeffrey, that was all he was going to get.
Jeffrey turned back to Gloria who looked annoyed, but at least a little impressed.
He walked towards the non-window that used to make up the front facia to Paddington Station.
“Alright” she said as she caught up in tired cynical kind of way. “How did you know it would be a cinema.”
“Not a cinema.”
“You don’t know its Warner yet.”
“May I borrow your mobile phone?”
“And if you knew?” she began to root about in her bag. “”Why didn’t you show off some more and tell the Captain.”
“Because he would have wanted to know how I knew.”
“And how did you know?” She handed him the phone.
“Now that’s a mystery to even me.” Jeffrey picked up the pace.
“What?”
“I don’t know how to put it.” He smirked.
She was still looking at him as they walked; a very demanding and unavoidable look she had perfected during their various times together.
“It’s going to sound weird but if I had a plane flying over London I could drop anywhere, it would be on Crosswaters. They bypassed every planning rule, redirected roads, destroyed community areas, had protesters beaton and arrested, hijacked public transport, Its A simble of Blair's Private Britain.”
“and?”
“Because I think they are the embodiment of evil, overpriced, soulless suckers of Satan’s cock… and because there’s no Disney Land near by.”
He dialled the number for Scoot into the pone and held it to his head.
“Fair enough, but why does that…”
“Don’t know, but something else, when Bernstrum’s news team ran an expose and that old man… the spy? Sold naval secrets to the Russians, the day after he died, his wife didn’t know a damn thing about it, when they camped out on her doorstep, she had to stay with her sister; they followed her there too.”
“Did they? I never saw that.”
“Her sister complained to the ITC, got it delayed, then banned. When that was going on I remember saying to someone or other I thought Bernard Bernstrum had a heart of stone.”
He had stepped in front of her. “What? Jeffrey…”
The phone was answered. “Warner Brother’s Cinema in Crosswaters, Guilford please.” The operator hung off. “I need to find a restaurant in London called the 23.”
“Jeffrey how… what are you saying?”
“Do you remember when we were back together for a month, three years ago?”
“Jeffrey please I…”
“No, remember what I said about Simon Cowell and Popstars?”
“No but I think I can guess, Jeffrey, lot’s of people thought that…”
“Yeah maybe…”
“Promise me what ever happens you’ll go back tomorrow.” Waters were building up in her eyes and the hand that was holding his was shaking.
“I will, but this is big, I don’t know how to explain it it makes sense, kind of, there I a pattern.”
“Jeffrey, your parents have died, I know that’s hard, but what ever happens you must, must deal with it now. I know people who left it, and… Jeffrey look at me, it ate them up, and it started like this, just simple prioritising.”
“It’s nothing like that.” He dismissed
“Jeffrey, I don’t want to see you eat yourself up over this.” The phone in his hand beeped a new message, he pressed to read it, snorted a short laugh.
“What?”
“Remember the name of the restaurant.”
“Yes.”
He handed her the phone.
The cinema in Guilford had 23 screens.
“So?” she ran to catch up with him. “You’re not seriously gonna tell that means something, Jeffrey stop a minute, what’s so special about the restaurant?”
“Bernard Bernstrum lived across the road form it.”
“Jeffrey, what are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking days like this don’t happen very often, and it’s only half past one, and this is my second in a row.”
She walked along side. “And the number 23?”
“I don’t know, but it keeps cropping up, Sylvia Atelé was 23”
“Who was Sylvia…”
“Atelé, she was James Laurel’s Girlfriend, went mad after he was killed, threw herself of a cliff, floated on shore after five days, miraculous recovery et cetera… she should be dead, but she isn’t..”
“That’s tabloid bullshit Jeffrey… and lots of people are twenty three.”
“They are... we were once.” he observed.
“Where are we going?”
“South West” he said, briskly crossing the road, pulling Gloria behind him by the arm. They had been walking five minutes or so now and ahead of them were several people stood looking down one of the side roads. They reached and turned the corner, and passing the on lookers they approached a larger crowd standing back from emergency vehicles and just a couple of army land rovers. Gloria looked to Jeffrey again, grabbing his arm and they walked slowly towards the crowd. On a neighbouring building site the crane had swung round and the cable now hung down, the huge hook just visible feet above the heads of onlookers, being held by a couple of soldiers.
One of them waved his arm up to the driver and the cable jerked upwards. It reviled some kind of harness, chain links chinked as they began to tighten, then it snapped taught. For a moment it stopped. Above them the engine revved and the motion continued. Another two meters of straps and harness was revealed before the mangled form of what had once been a cow was lifted up above the crowd. The cow swung, moving over the crowd and up.
A mixture of red and yellow juices spilled from the beast and the crowd shrieked and reeled as the liquid fell over them, except one man, an old man, but stout who held an umbrella and was smiling. He was neatly dressed in a suit and tail coats and remind Jeffrey in the most mystical way of the fat controller.
The man moved his umbrella over once the cow had passed him to watch as it was carried away to the building site where a lower loader was waiting for it. Jeffrey looked up to see the cow was dropping down now, when he looked back the old man was smiling at him. Then he suddenly turned away and covered his head with the umbrella.
“Why weren’t you surprised by this?” Gloria said turning to him.
“Me?”
“Yes”
“What makes you think I wasn’t surprised?”
“You’re all, interested, how did you know it was a plane?”
“Where else would they have come from?” Jeffrey smiled at her, he looked back to the crowd but the old man was gone.
“What is it?” Gloria asked following his gaze.
“Nothing.” he said.
They walked another two miles, in total coming across another four cows. One had hit a shopping centre, Mothercare and The Body Shop to be precise. One crashed through the ceiling of an office block, through the reception area of the small therapist practice, and into the offices of a small chartered accountancy firm. They watched as the army removed it from the fourth floor piece by piece. Secretarial staff and people from the waiting room watched, smoked and were sick on the front steps as bits of cow passed them by.
One cow had landed quite harmlessly in a park, only to be found by a group of kids, who covered themselves in its blood and spent the next hour running up and down the surrounding streets screaming and generally having a laugh. One of them burst into a fast food outlet and warned everyone not to eat the meat and then fell on the floor and frothing sherbert at the mouth.
The last one that they found had hit the side of an office building. Falling at a slight angle it hit at the fourth floor, were somehow the head was severed clean from the body, landing inside the building, and the rest of the animal fell, landing, much to Jeffrey’s near hysterical delight outside a branch of McDonalds. The windows had shattered and the occupants had been sprayed, as was now a common sight across the capital, in blood. McDonald’s were the only people apart from the army who thought this might be some kind of terrorist attack, less than twenty minutes form the time of the incident, a statement had been issued from the head quarters of McDonalds UK, utterly condemning the dangerous vigilante terrorist act, as cruel, inhuman and of pour taste. The spokes person refused to elaborate on what might be meant by that last remark.
It was four o’clock, or just past when Jeffrey filled the Dictaphone he had bought from Argos and was about to go back and get more tapes.
“Look, Jeffrey, I’m really tired, my head hurts.” Gloria said quite matter-of-factly.
Her hair was down in front of her face, the large white cotton pad tat had been stuck over her stitches was coming loose and her eyes looked drained.
“I’m sorry.” He put the recorder away. “You’re right, we’ll go back, I can look into this restaurant tonight and ill go round tomorrow before I get a train.”
“Do you think the station will be open tomorrow?”
“No, I’ll have to go via Kings Cross probably.”
Gloria yawned, she had spent most of the afternoon standing, waiting about for Jeffrey to moither Soldiers, policemen and people on the street. He had also been scrawling on a notepad he had bought from a corner shop. While he had never thought of dropping cows over London, the McDonalds bit was really quite a… well, it was funny, in a way only he seemed to appreciate.
“We are a food outlet.” The manager had said impatiently when Jeffrey shoved the tape recorder in his face and asked demandingly if the cow falling from the sky might be some form of Hindu reincarnate revenge tactic, concocted by some group of fundamentalist pacifists.
“Not only that…” he continued “but we are a family restaurant, a family business if you will, why would anybody want to attack us. We are all, frankly sickened.” He concluded.
“Sickened by what? Have you been eating the food?” Jeffrey mocked.
“I’m sorry?”
“Well no it’s just a recent study of fast foot outlets showed that you all had faeces in your burgers.”
“Well I would say…”
“Not to mention knock-on effects from the growth hormones that are given to the cows that are farmed on slashed and burned rainforest, irrevocably changing the worlds…” The manager turned his back and walked away
“Shit.” Jeffrey had said quietly, once again he had been unable just hold it in and not alienate them until he was at the end of what he wanted to ask. He cringed slightly as he remembered the time he bumped into Mark Thatcher on the Street quite by accident. Two questions and he had been threatened with legal action and rectal rupture courtesy of a £500 an hour lawyer.
Now he had thought about it Gloria was right, he was tired, and he needed to look over his notes.
He put his arm round Gloria, “I’m sorry I dragged you around all day.”
“No, it’s alright.” She said nodding, “It’s just, you know, enough.” she pleaded
“Yeah” –and then… across the road he saw a dark haired girl lighting a cigarette and he couldn’t believe it. What were the odds? She looked at the crowd, then turned her back and began to walk away, her long black coat pulled in tight around her. She was cold, not used to the climate and this was a warm day for February. It had to be her, he knew it, and he felt it, no coincidence.
“Gloria.” He said
“What?” she sensed it, he was gonna run off and leave her.
“I’ve just seen someone, I have to go, I know where you are, get a taxi, I’ll see you later on.”
“But Jeff… for God’s sake come on!”
“I’m sorry” he called, running across the street, leaping sideways on between people and trying not to loose sight of the girl. He slid and skidded to a halt as ten soldiers, all barking orders at reach other ran in front of him with the empty carcass of cow. Then he was running again, his brain deeply resenting being thrown about inside his skull like this and was drawing his attention to this fact in the only way it knew, the pain was bringing water to his eyes. But he had to catch her, no coincidence, not on days like this. She disappeared round a corner.
“Sorry” Jeffrey muttered as he skirted round some children and their annoyed looking mother. He skirted round the corner and nearly ran straight into old lady, whose expression barely changed from mundane boredom, but followed him as he span to avoid her.
Lurching horribly he found he was moving faster side ways than he could hop.
The top half of his body soon found there was nothing to support it and was hurtling towards the ground for the third time that day. As the paving stones got closer to his head and he turned to look at the sky, Jeffrey Dargon knew this, more than anything that had happened to him yet today, was really going to hurt.
Recent comments